Have you ever been at your wit’s end? Maybe, maybe not …
“Mama, where are you going?” I remember asking 300 times a day when I was a kid.
“Crazy! You want to come?” was always her response.
And, like, now I get it.
I GET IT. But the truth is, she was never actually going crazy.
She was going to the store for the third time in three days. She was picking up our medicine from the pharmacy because we had strep throat again. She was taking us to softball because we wanted to play. She was driving us to the movies to meet our friends. She was picking up supplies for another school project. She was going to the urgent care to get her finger stitched up after cutting it open doing said school project. She was listening to us play hot cross buns on the recorder for the 575th time that day. She was going out to get more Palmolive to do the dishes that only ever got washed when she was around.
I’m sure she felt like she was going crazy.
I think about that a lot. When I’ve changed the fifth poopy diaper of the day. Or I’ve picked up the same 50 knock off Magnatiles, again, or I’ve listened to Blippi’s train episode on repeat, or I’ve said ‘Potato Head’ in a funny voice for the 80th time in a row because it makes my toddler laugh, or I’ve said “No poo poo, just pee pee” to my toddler aka my bathroom audience, again.
I’m at my wit’s end, I think.
But just like the bottom of a fresh hot cup of coffee, I’ve never actually been to my wit’s end in Motherhood. And I bet you haven’t, either. Because to me, my wit’s end is a place to go and give up – and I never do that. You might think it’s locking yourself in the bathroom for a moment of silence, waking up early to get a moment alone, or crying to your partner about how tired you are right now. Because those things mean you’re still trying.
These days, with two children two and under, feel so monotonous at times, while others feel like I’m parenting a different child every day, and I don’t know which way is up. Is this my wit’s end? It’s not … I notice the breath in my chest – in and out. Are my feet still underneath me? I wiggle my toes; two feet are on the floor. I’m reminded because that is where these littles spend their time now. Until someday, I will have to say, “I’ve had it up to here!”, and their eyes will meet mine. The pain points will be different, but one thing will have remained the same, I didn’t give up. I kept flexing, adapting, showing up. Because I have been fortunate enough to be chosen for such a beautifully wild ride, indeed.
